Free Blood Pact by Tanya Huff

stepped back, trod on Celluci's foot, and didn't notice. "See her?”

    "Yes. To say good-bye." Tears welled and ran and she swiped at them without making much impact. "I don't think I'll be able to believe Marjory's actually dead unless I see her.”

    "But . . .”

    "I know it's a closed coffin, but I thought you and I might be able to slip in now. Before things start.”

    Vicki had never understood the need to look at the dead. A corpse was a corpse and over the years she'd seen enough of them to know that they were all fundamentally alike. She didn't want to remember her mother the way she'd been, stretched out on the table in the morgue, and she certainly didn't want to remember her prepared like a manikin to go into the earth. But it was obviously something Esther needed.

    "I'll have a word with Mr. Hutchinson," she heard herself saying.

    A few moments later, the three of them were making their way down the center aisle of the chapel, shoes making no sound on the thick red carpet.

    "We did prepare for this eventuality," Mr. Hutchinson said as they approached the coffin. "Very often when the casket is closed, friends and relatives still want to say one last good-bye to the deceased. I'm sure you'll find your mother much as you remember her, Ms. Nelson.”

    Vicki closed her teeth on her reply.

    "The service is due to start momentarily," he said as he released the latch and began to raise the upper half of the lid, "so I'm afraid you'll have to . . . have to . . .”

    Her fingers dug deep into satin cushioning as Vicki's hands closed over the padded edge of the coffin. In the center of the quilted pillow lay the upper end of a large sandbag. A quick glance toward the foot of the casket determined that a second sandbag made up the rest of the necessary weight.

    She straightened and in a voice that ripped civilization off the words asked, "What have you done with my mother?”

Four
    "This would probably go a lot easier if you'd get Ms. Nelson to go home." Detective Fergusson of the Kingston Police lowered his voice a little further. "It's not like we don't appreciate your input, Sergeant, but Ms. Nelson, she hasn't been a cop for a couple of years. She really shouldn't be here. Besides, you know, she's a woman. They get emotional at times like these.”

    "Get a lot of body snatching, do you?" Celluci asked dryly.

    "No!" The detective's indignant gaze jerked up to meet Celluci's. "Never had one before. Ever.”

    "Ah. Then which times like these were you referring to?”

    "Well, you know. Her mother dying. The body being lifted. This whole funeral home thing. I hate 'em. Too damn quiet. Anyway, this'll probably turn out to be some stupid prank by some of those university medical school geeks. I could tell you stories about that lot. The last thing we need scrambling things up is a hysterical woman, and she certainly has a right to be hysterical under the circumstances, don't get me wrong.”

    "Does Ms. Nelson look hysterical to you, Detective?”

    Fergusson swept a heavy hand back over his thinning hair and glanced across the room where his partner had just finished taking statements. A few months before, he'd been given the opportunity to handle one of the new high-tech assault rifles recently issued to the special weapons and tactics boys. Ex-Detective Nelson reminded him a whole lot of that rifle. "Well, no. Not precisely hysterical.”

    While he wasn't exactly warming to the man, Celluci wasn't entirely unsympathetic. "Look at it this way. She was one of the best police officers I ever served with, probably ever will serve with. If she stays, think of her as an added resource you can tap into and recognize that because of her background she will in no way disrupt your handling of the case. If she goes," he clapped the older man lightly on the shoulder, "you're telling her. Because I'm not.”

    "Like that, eh?”

    "Like that. It'd be convenient that you're already in a funeral home. Trust me. Things will